TOW the Waiter
by Fielding
Summary: A change in Monica's job causes problems for her and Chandler. Chapter 5 is up for reals this time . My apologies for taking it down and re-uploading -- I spotted a major, um, error in the last chapter and had to replace it. The story is done.
1. Default Chapter

The apples poking out of the top of one of three bags of grocies Monica was balancing on her hips threated to tumble to the floor as she reached her apartment door and fumbled with the doorknob

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Author's note: Takes place season 6, around January/February, after Janine has moved out of Joey's place but before Valentine's Day. This is the first of, most likely, five chapters.

The apples poking out of the bags of groceries Monica was balancing on her hips threatened to tumble to the floor as she reached her apartment and fumbled with the doorknob. She had just barely caught one of the pieces of fruit under her chin when the door suddenly swung open, and she saw Chandler smile broadly at her then reach out to grab the bag closest to him, which was sliding out of Monica's hands. He caught it just in time, but the sudden movement caused Monica to lose her grip on the apples, and five of them spilled to the floor and rolled away.

"And they're off!" Chandler announced as the apples wobbled down the slightly sloping hallway floor. At the sharp look from Monica, he stepped aside so she could bring the other two bags she carried inside. He set his own bag on the floor, picked up the fruit basket on the kitchen table, and then kneeled down to catch the five apples. With all of them safely tucked in the basket, he grabbed the top one, polished it on his shirt and took a bite.

"That'll teach you to run away again," he scolded, his mouth full of apple. Monica shot him another frown as she pulled off her coat, and he put down the apple.

"Well, someone's not having a good day," Chandler said. He stepped over to Monica, who now was putting the groceries away, and took her hands so she had to face him.

"Nice to see you, sweetie," he said, kissing her on the lips then backing a half step away to study her face. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I'm just cranky. Maybe I'm about to start my period or something." At Chandler's grimace, she added, "Look, we live together now and I bleed every month _ get used to it."

"No problem," he said, turning his face to mouth a quick "eewww" that she couldn't see before going on. "So work was OK?"

"No, work was not OK," Monica said, resuming her grocery unpacking and brutally stuffing vegetables into the drawers in the refrigerator. "The dinner crew gets a big kick out of the fact that I organize my kitchen supplies alphabetically, so last night they moved everything."

"I'm sure they didn't do it on purpose," said Chandler, who had sat at the kitchen table and was back at his apple. "I still don't know where everything goes here. Why do you think I'm not helping you now?"

"They totally did it on purpose," Monica said. "And you're just lazy."

"Hey, that hurts," Chandler said through another bit of apple.

"I know they did it on purpose," Monica went on, ignoring Chandler, "because they labeled almost all of the appliances with the wrong names. Somebody had actually written 'flap-jack flipper' on all the spatulas and 'murder weapon' on my butcher knives. So, naturally, they were filed in the 'F' and 'M' drawers."

Chandler burst out laughing, little bits of apple flying out of his mouth.

"Oh, you think that's really funny, funny man, do you?" she said. "Well maybe 'murder weapon' isn't a totally inaccurate label after all."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Chandler said, his eyes watery from laughter as he got up from the table to wrap Monica in a hug, somewhat against her will. "But that's the dinner crew, right? At least you don't have to work with those people all the time. I mean, you said the lunch crew is starting to warm up to you."

"That's the thing," Monica said, pushing away from Chandler and flopping into a chair. "I'm going to be working with them for the next month."

"What?" Chandler asked, sitting next to her. "You're working nights?"

"Yes," Monica moaned. "You know, we've always been more of a lunch spot, with all the office buildings nearby, so the owners want to pick up the dinner crowd now. Since I'm the head chef, they said I have to work dinners for the next month, totally rework the menu and all that. Any other time and this would be a great opportunity, but the dinner crew is just, well, they're just evil."

"Hey, Mon, it'll be OK," Chandler said, leaning over in his chair so he could hold Monica, who had let out a frustrated sob with that last sentence. "It's only for a month, right? And you hated the lunch crew at first, so maybe now this is a chance to turn the dinner crew to your side. You know, turn on your charm, maybe even flirt a little."

At this Monica poked her head up.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to flirt," she said, a small smile turning up her mouth. "You know, I'm too sexy and all that."

"In times of crisis, I think I can make an exception," Chandler said. "Besides, if they really hate you that much, a little flirting probably isn't going to do a hell of a lot of good."

Monica gave him a shallow laugh, and then turned serious again.

"The other thing that sucks about this," she said, "is that I'll hardly get to see you at all. Working the night shift, I probably won't get home until 11 or 12."

"So, I'll wait up for you," Chandler said, taking her hands in his. "And we can still have breakfast before I leave in the morning. And we can meet for lunch a few times a week. Plus, we'll have weekends."

"No weekends," Monica said. "I'll have to work Friday and Saturday nights."

"OK, so no weekends," Chandler said, clearly rethinking just how bad this situation was sounding.

"And no lunches, either. I'm going to have to get started pretty early, you know, go shopping for fresh produce. And putting together a new dinner menu is going to take a lot of time."

"OK, so no lunches," Chandler said, his voice decidedly dark now. "But breakfasts, right? And you're off Sundays?"

"Yes, we'll do breakfasts. And Sundays," Monica said, forcing herself to look bright as she caught the scowl on Chandler's face. "And since I start Tuesday, for all the rest of this week I'm making you spectacular dinners every night."

"But it's already Thursday," Chandler whined. "This sucks."

"Macaroni and cheese," Monica sang, standing up to pull a bag of pasta off a shelf. "Homemade. With little hot dogs."

"I guess we can do this for a month," Chandler said, perking up a bit. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, kissing her ear and her neck. "But I'm going to miss you."

"Me too," she said.

"I mean, what am I going to eat for a month?"

+++++

The weekend flew by for Monica, which came as no surprise, considering how much she was dreading going back to work on Tuesday. She showed up at the restaurant at about 11 to get started before the busy lunchtime. She had drawn up a list the day before of fresh fruits, vegetables and meats to pick up from the local grocers that day, but first she wanted to see what was already in stock at the restaurant. That afternoon, during the lull between the lunch and dinner crowds, she intended to practice a few dishes she'd dreamed up over the weekend.

Monica had a good time shopping, so she was in high spirits when she returned to the restaurant at about 3, her arms loaded with bags of meat and produce. As she reached for the knob on the backdoor that opened directly into the kitchen, a sack of red potatoes on the top of one bag opened and the vegetables teetered at the edge of her bag.

"Why do I keep doing this to myself?" Monica muttered, as she shook the doorknob and shifted her bags to keep the potatoes from rolling out. And then the door opened.

"Oh, wow, let me help you with that," said the man who opened the door. He grabbed the bag with the potatoes in it and quickly set it on the floor so he could help her with the rest of the groceries. "That was a close call."

"Thanks," Monica said, stepping inside the empty kitchen. She looked up at the man who'd helped her. He was tall and had a thin but well-defined face, with longish blond hair that hung into his eyes. A quick scowl crossed Monica's face as she recognized him as one of the dinner waiters, but then she made a conscious effort to be kind and keep an open mind. She smiled instead.

"I don't think we've met," Monica said after setting down the bags she still held. "I'm Monica."

"Yeah, I know," the man said, wiping his hands on the half apron he had tied around his waist. "They told us you'd be working dinners for awhile."

"For a month," she said quickly.

"Right. Well, anyway, I'm Ted."

"It's nice to meet you," Monica said, and then shuffled her feet in the awkward silence that followed. "Well, I guess I'd better get to work. Thanks again for your help."

"Oh, no problem," Ted said. They stood facing each other for another few seconds, and then Monica smiled shyly and turned to unpack her bags.

The afternoon passed remarkably well. Monica was left to herself for about two hours, and by the time the first dinner customers came in, she was actually humming softly and smiling, pleased with her work. She'd run into a small crisis at about 5, when she met with the waiters to discuss changes in the dinner menu. Two teenage busboys in the back of the kitchen kept giggling and gossiping through her announcements, even after she asked them to be quiet. But then Ted had actually gone to the back of the room, whispered something quickly to them, and there had been no further interruptions.

For the rest of the evening, Monica found that she was too busy to worry about the dinner crew and what mean stunts they might try with her. It wasn't until 10:30, after she had made the last salmon soufflé, that Monica realized how smoothly the night had gone. Sure, most of the waiters hadn't exactly been friendly to her, clearly frowning at her when they picked up their food, and she'd caught more than one of them making faces at her when they thought she wasn't looking. And OK, she was pretty sure that one of the busboys had deliberately tried to trip her when she had to run to a large pot of pasta that she thought she'd overcooked. But all in all, the night had gone pretty well.

"That wasn't so bad," Monica said softly to herself as she prepared to dump what was left of a creamy mushroom soup.

"What wasn't so bad?" a voice from behind her asked. Monica turned abruptly, and saw Ted leaning in the doorway. He was smiling at her, apparently thinking it was funny to find her talking to herself.

"Um, the soup," Monica stammered. "I was afraid it might have been a little too salty."

"No, the soup was great," Ted said. "I've never seen so many people opt for soup over salad."

"We didn't have a salad tonight," Monica said, catching the coy grin on Ted's face.

"Oh, well then, it's a good thing they wanted the soup," he said. "I probably shouldn't have offered the salad, eh?"

"Ha ha," Monica said. And then she asked, forcing herself to sound casual and breezy, "So, how do you think it went tonight?"

"Pretty well," Ted said, moving into the kitchen to lean against the cool steel counter. "I mean, considering."

"Considering what?" Monica asked, her head jolting up from the pot of soup.

"Well, considering all the plans the dinner crew had for you," Ted said.

"Plans?" Monica asked.

"Oh yeah. There were lots of plans," Ted said, picking up a spatula with the "flap-jack" label still attached to it and pretending to flip pancakes. "Man, were we going to mess with you."

Monica didn't know how to take what he was saying. Most of the waiting staff hadn't exactly been nice to her tonight. And compared to everyone else, Ted had been downright charming, telling her whenever customers complemented the food and smiling every time he caught her eye. Why was he telling her all of this?

At her confused look, Ted stopped playing with the spatula and looked straight at her.

"Don't worry," he said. "I took care of everything."

"What do you mean?"

"I told them not to mess with you."

"That's it?" Monica asked, a little too loudly. When he looked offended, she added, "No, I mean, thanks. But that's all it took? They hate me."

"Well, yeah, they do," Ted said. "But they like me a lot. I mean, I'm fun to hang out with, I'm nice to everyone, and look how cute I am." He spread his arms out wide and turned around slowly for her. Monica laughed.

"I can't believe it. I've been so worried about working this shift, and now you're telling me you've fixed everything?"

"It doesn't come without a price," Ted said, turning serious.

"What do you mean?" Monica asked, her throat tight.

"Well," Ted said, walking slowly around the counter toward Monica, never taking his eyes off her. "I could really go for some of that soup."

+++++

Monica got home at about 11:30 to find Chandler waiting up for her. He was sitting in a bathrobe on the couch, reading. He jumped up and pulled her into a hug before she had a chance to take off her coat or put down her purse.

"Hey, sweetie, how'd it go?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

"You know, it wasn't so bad," Monica said, kissing him and then pulling away to hang up her coat. "They weren't exactly nice, but no one was exactly mean either."

"That's great," Chandler said, clearly sounding relieved. To be honest, he was mostly grateful that he wouldn't have to spend the next month listening to Monica bitch about her job. He already supplied plenty of job bitching for one house, thank you very much. "Now come to bed and tell me everything."

Monica followed him into the bedroom, telling him about the menu she had prepared and how crowded the restaurant already was. Clearly the owners had done a fantastic job promoting their restaurant for dinner.

"So how come the dinner crew let you off?" Chandler asked as Monica slid under the covers with him. "Do a little flirting there, babe? It's OK, you can tell me all about it."

"Um, you know, I'm not sure," Monica said, turning off the light on her side of the bed. "Maybe they just figured they were going to have to work with me for the next month, so they might as well make the best of it?"

Chandler seemed to accept her answer, or maybe he was too tired to press her, because he turned off his light and gathered her into his arms. He was asleep a few minutes later. Monica could feel his warm breath in her hair as she lay on his chest, thinking over her day at work and what she had just said to him.

Monica wasn't sure why she didn't want to tell Chandler about Ted. She didn't think it would make him jealous, as Chandler seemed to feel secure about her feelings for him. But for some reason, she couldn't help but feel a bit guilty about what Ted had done, almost as if she had asked him to do her this favor. It didn't make any sense, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to not mention Ted. It wasn't like she had anything to hide.


	2. Chapter 2

By the end of the first week, Monica was not just tolerating her new job, but actually enjoying it

By the end of her first week working nights, Monica was not just tolerating her new job, but actually enjoying it. She loved the challenge of putting together a totally new dinner menu, trying out at least one new entree every night. At the end of the month, she would pick out the best meals and present a menu with about a dozen dinners on it.

But it wasn't just the cooking that Monica was enjoying. For the first time that she could remember, Monica was having fun at work. She wasn't exactly partying with the dinner crew, but they were mostly pleasant to her. And Ted, it turned out, was quite the talker. He already had gotten in the habit of meeting Monica in the kitchen after her afternoon shopping to chat with her while she worked out her recipes. Then, during the busy dinner hours, he would pop his head in frequently to pass on complements or make fun of the diners _ how the fat guy at table three, for example, couldn't reach across the table for the salt, or how the couple at table seven was clearly having a fight about the man's hot secretary.

Ted was even staying late with Monica, long after the last customers had left, to help her plan the next night's meals. After all, he said, he was the best judge of what people were actually eating. So they would sit in the kitchen until long after midnight, Ted sampling Monica's cream sauces and apple tarts, and Monica laughing and rolling her eyes at his lame jokes.

On her first Sunday afternoon off, after enjoying a leisurely morning in bed with Chandler, Monica decided to run down to Central Perk for some fresh coffee, hoping also to run into Rachel and Phoebe, whom she'd barely seen all week.

She was in luck. She bought a mocha and joined the women on the couch, and immediately set into talking about her job. Before long, she was repeating a story Ted had told her about some customers from the night before.

"So when they complained about the prices being so much higher than the ones at lunch, he told them the food was totally worth it. Isn't that sweet?" Monica said, a proud smile lighting up her face as she took a sip of her drink.

Rachel, who was sitting in the armchair at the end of the coffee table, caught Phoebe's eye and they both grinned.

"Mon, you have a crush on this guy," Rachel said.

"What? I do not," Monica said, her smile disappearing as she put down her mug.

"Uh huh, yup, definitely a crush," Phoebe said.

"I do not have a crush," Monica said defiantly. "That's crazy. You're both crazy."

"It's OK, honey," Rachel said. "It's totally normal to have a crush even when you're dating someone. It doesn't mean you don't love Chandler."

"Unless you really don't love him," Phoebe added quickly. "Because that'd be totally understandable. You said this guy was dreamy, right? God, don't you just love dreamy waiters?"

"No, I didn't say he was dreamy," Monica said, shooting Phoebe an angry glare. Phoebe just shrugged and sipped at her tea. "And of course I love Chandler. I don't want anyone else."

"Mon, really, it's no big deal. You think I didn't get crushes on guys when I was with Ross? Remember Mark? Remember how hot he was?" At this Monica joined Rachel in turning glassy-eyed, and they both sighed.

"My God, I'm only human," Rachel said, jolting out of her flashback. "But it doesn't mean I acted on it. That's the difference."

"Really?" Monica asked. "It's OK? Because, well, not that it matters at all, but Ted's pretty cute."

"See, totally normal," Rachel said.

"I mean, he's hot. Like, unbelievable," Monica continued. "Great hair, dark, expressive eyes. And he's a lot of fun-"

"OK, Mon? Crossing the line now," Rachel said.

"Is he single?" Phoebe asked. "Do you have a picture? Or a phone number?"

+++++

By the second week of the job, Monica was rarely coming home before midnight, often not climbing into bed until 1 or even 2 a.m. Chandler would try to stay up for her, but found there really wasn't much point. Once she got home, they would maybe chat for 15 minutes before they were both asleep. And staying up so late was making him tired and cranky all day. At the same time, because Monica was getting home so late, she was waking up much later too, so they were rarely able to spend even breakfast together.

So, after just a week with the new hours, Chandler found that he was lucky if he saw Monica at all.

At first he had thought that it might be OK to not have her around all the time. They had only been living together for about two months, so he figured it would probably be good for them to have a little space. But, as it turned out, he wasn't liking it at all. He missed spending quiet evenings with her at night, and even when the rest of his friends were around, which was just about all the time, he craved having her close by, being able to hold her hand or pull her into his arms while everyone watched a movie.

Chandler was spending most of his free time with Joey or Ross, doing all of the things they used to before he moved in with Monica. He and Joey had managed a "Baywatch" marathon, watching eight hours straight over pizza and beers one Saturday. And Ross had invited him over for dinner several times, which was odd, because, all things considered, Chandler was probably the better cook.

A week and a half into Monica's job, Chandler decided it was time he paid her a visit and tasted what she was really up to. So he made reservations for the gang on a Wednesday night, which Monica had said was her slowest. He toyed briefly with the idea of surprising her, but then figured she wouldn't appreciate that at all, and in fact would probably throw them out of the restaurant. As it was, Monica was totally prepared for them when they arrived and was even able to step out of the kitchen for a moment to chat with them.

"Hey, sweetie," Chandler said as she walked up to them just as they were being seated. "Look at my little professional chef." He patted her head, careful not to knock off the hat she wore, and then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug with one arm. Monica smiled and spread her arms out to their group.

"Welcome to Cafe Monica," she said with a smile. "Everything on the menu is excellent-"

"And on the house?" Joey said, lifting his eyebrows.

"And very reasonably priced," Monica said, glaring at him then smiling.

Rachel waved for Monica to come to her.

"So, which one is he," Rachel whispered once Monica was crouching between her and Phoebe.

"Sshh," Monica shushed her abruptly, looking quickly at Chandler to see if he'd noticed. When she saw him chatting with Ross, she jolted her head to the left.

"That one," she whispered between her teeth. "Blond hair. Tall."

"Oooh, very dignified," Phoebe said appreciatively.

"No, not him," Monica sighed, catching Phoebe wink at the maitre d', who was 60 and balding. "Him," she said, tossing her head so hard in Ted's direction that her hat almost flew off. Ted was across the room, balancing a tray loaded with dinners. He hadn't seen Monica's friends arrive.

"Very nice," Rachel said. "Broad shoulders, good posture, great ass."

"I know," Monica hissed, a grin on her face. Then she stood up and announced to everyone, "Your waiter will be with you in a sec. I'll come out again before you're done."

"Oh, and seriously," she added in a very soft voice, leaning in to the table. "Um, the chicken? Not tonight."

+++++

The dinner was excellent, everyone declared two hours later, as they sat back in their chairs and breathed around full stomachs. Monica, it turned out, hadn't been able to revisit their table. So as everyone stood up and made to grab their coats, Chandler told them to wait so he could sneak back to the kitchen and say a quick goodbye.

It was still busy enough in the restaurant that nobody noticed him walking back to the kitchen, and he was able to stand in the doorway and watch Monica for several minutes before she saw him. A soft smile crossed his face as he watched her racing around the kitchen, dancing between three pots on the stove and two ovens. She looked frenzied, her hair starting to come undone, a single strand slipping into her face. But she looked happy, he noticed. She was humming softly to herself as she chopped a carrot, and whisked her hands with satisfaction after dropping the pieces into a pot.

"Oh," she said in surprise when she finally saw him standing there. "I didn't see you."

"I know," Chandler said, smiling. "You're beautiful when you work."

"What are you talking about?" Monica said, stirring another pot on the stove. "My hair's a mess, I'm sweating from this hot kitchen, I've got stains all over my shirt-"

"Exactly," Chandler said, and then walked toward her so he could kiss her cheek. Monica smiled at him but didn't stop stirring. "I know you're busy, I just wanted to say goodbye. Oh, and your food was incredible."

"Thanks," Monica said, finally turning toward him. "And thanks so much for coming out here. I'll see you in a couple hours, OK?"

Chandler sighed, but nodded and gave her another quick kiss and a squeeze on her shoulder.

"I love you," he said.

"Me too."

+++++

"You know, Monica's really a good cook," Joey said a few nights later, as everyone gathered at his place for pizza. He was answered with a round of "uh-huhs" from everyone, their mouths too stuffed with pizza to respond more enthusiastically.

"I'll be really glad when she goes back to the lunch hours, though," Chandler said once he had swallowed, wiping off his face with a crumpled napkin. "I swear, that night was the most I've seen her in two weeks. I mean, unless you count sleepy sex at 2 in the morning."

Ross shot him a dirty look, and Chandler added, "Just kidding," before catching Joey's eyes, shaking his head and mouthing, "not kidding."

"It's funny, I've been eating her food for years, but I'm always amazed at how much better it tastes in a restaurant," Ross said, looking thoughtful as he leaned back in Joey's recliner. "You think it's like the ambiance?"

"The staff wasn't too hard to look at," Rachel muttered to Phoebe, who smiled and nodded in agreement. "How does Monica get anything done with that man in her kitchen?"

"What was that?" Ross asked.

"Nothing," Rachel said quickly.

"Well, it's been great, kids, but I've got to go," Chandler said, setting his empty plate in Joey's sink. "Monica's off work tomorrow, and I promised to do the laundry this week. I saved her panties for last."

"Dude, doesn't she have her period this week?" Joey asked, looking disgusted.

"Eeww," Ross moaned, spitting out the pizza in his mouth.

"First, that's disgusting and none of your business, Joe," Chandler said. "And second, no."

"Man, I used to be on top of that stuff," Joey said, sounding perplexed. "Now that you two are living together, I have no idea what's going on."

"And that's a very good thing," Chandler said, opening the door. "Bye, everyone. Thanks for the pizza, Joey."

"Hey, I bought the pizza," Ross called out.

"Yeah, but I supplied the ambiance," Joey said.

When Chandler had closed the door, Ross turned in the recliner to face Rachel and Phoebe, who were sitting on two stools at the counter.

"So, what was that about the man in Monica's kitchen?" he asked.

Rachel's mouth dropped open and her eyes grew large, and then she recovered.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, taking a delicate bite of pizza.

"Come on, I heard what you said," Ross said.

"Me too," Joey said, nodding vigorously. "There was a man in Monica's kitchen..."

"You didn't hear a thing," Rachel said to Joey, who pouted but then fessed up.

"OK, but I want to hear about the man in Monica's kitchen," he said, starting to whine.

"Oh for God's sake, it was a fan in her kitchen," Phoebe said. "A fan. Rachel said, 'How does she get any work done with that loud fan in her kitchen?'"

Ross ignored Phoebe and just stared at Rachel.

"Fine," Rachel said. "But you can't tell Chandler. Monica has, well, a little crush on one of the waiters."

"And he's really cute," Phoebe added, hers and Rachel's eyes glazing over as they pictured Ted.

"She has a crush?" Ross said, interrupting their thoughts. "How can she have a crush? What about Chandler?"

Rachel sighed. She knew Ross was never going to understand.

"Look, I know you won't believe this, but it's totally normal to have a crush even when you're dating someone. It's no big deal," Rachel said.

"Besides, she's with Chandler," Phoebe said. "Can you blame her for wanting to check out a hot guy every now and then?"

"I don't know. This isn't right," Ross said.

"Yeah, does Chandler even know this guy exists?" Joey asked, sitting in a chair next to Ross to face the women.

"I don't think so," Rachel said.

"Seriously, guys, this is not a big deal," Phoebe said. "I mean, I've always looked at other guys when I was dating. And Rachel had a crush on Mark when-"

She stopped suddenly at the glares she got from Ross and Rachel.

"What?" Ross said.

"What?" Rachel said, glaring at Phoebe and trying to look innocent for Ross at the same time.

"What?" Phoebe said, looking at Joey as though he had said something. Joey just looked bewildered.

"I knew it!" Ross finally yelled, bolting out of his chair. "You liked him!"

"Fine, I admit it, I had a little crush on him," Rachel said, throwing the napkin she'd been holding onto her plate. "But I never acted on it. I never even wanted to act on it. Even after you cheated on me, I never wanted to do anything with him."

"Yeah, right," Ross said. "So are you still claiming that it was a coincidence he called you that night we broke up? And you guys definitely went on a date later on. Don't deny it. I saw everything."

"Oh my God, Ross," Rachel said. "I never lied to you about him. But you know, it doesn't even matter now. All that happened what, like four years ago? Who even cares anymore?"

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Ross yelled then stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. "OK, you're right. It doesn't matter. But if you liked him, then we definitely were on a break, right?"

"Ooohh, you're impossible," Rachel growled, standing up and heading to the front door, then turning around to add, "Thanks for the pizza, Joey."

"I bought the pizza!" Ross yelled just as the door slammed shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Chandler got home from work the following Monday night to find Monica, as usual, slaving away in the kitchen

Monica was making a habit of slaving away in her own kitchen on the two days she had off from work. She felt guilty about working every weeknight and leaving Chandler on his own for dinner, so she prepared elaborate meals on the nights she was home.

Of course, she realized that some of her guilt wasn't just from not being home, but from the fact that she was actually enjoying not being home. It wasn't so much that she didn't miss Chandler, it was just that she didn't have time to miss him. Sure, she was sad when she woke up in the morning and he was gone. And she missed the talks they sometimes had before falling asleep at night, when he would hold her and they'd share their misadventures from the day. But while she was at work, she rarely thought about him.

And part of Monica felt guilty about Ted. She believed Rachel and Phoebe when they said it was no big deal to have a crush, but she couldn't help but feel as though she was betraying Chandler in some small way. She really enjoyed Ted's company, and she especially enjoyed the attention he heaped on her. He probably was spending more time in the kitchen with her than he was in the dining room. She noticed that he was making excuses to be close to her, leaning over her shoulder to smell a stew or brushing her hip when he picked up a plate. He also had started becoming a little more forward in his complements, extending them not just to her food, but to her appearance.

And she had yet to tell him about Chandler. Not a word.

She hadn't outright lied to Ted. He hadn't asked. But they'd been working closely together for two weeks, and she knew she should have mentioned Chandler by now. She should have told the cute, charming and terribly flirtatious waiter that she was taken. But she hadn't.

Monica wasn't thinking about her omissions, though. Every now and then the thought would just pop into her head, seemingly from nowhere, that she needed to tell Ted about Chandler. But she would squash most of those thoughts before they could gel into real guilt. And what little guilt was left over, she managed to convince herself came from not spending enough time with Chandler.

So on the night before she started her third week on the job, Monica was preparing an elaborate dinner for him: a lasagna that, conveniently enough, would provide him with leftovers for the rest of the week, assuming he could hide it from Joey. So OK, he'd only have it for a day.

"Wow, when did Joey's grandmother move in? It smells amazing," Chandler said as he walked through the front door and was assaulted with the aroma of Monica's baking lasagna. He tugged off his overcoat and scarf, and stepped quickly over to Monica to kiss and hug her. "Mmmm, I miss coming home to you."

"I know. I hate Monday nights. Means I have to go back to work tomorrow," Monica said, returning his kiss.

Chandler turned around and started sorting through the day's mail, absently rubbing at his throat. He'd been feeling tired all day, and his throat was sore and itchy. He was worried he was coming down with a cold. And he hated to say anything to Monica, but the lasagna she was baking didn't sound all that appealing to him tonight.

"You know, you don't have to cook for me like this," Chandler said, putting down the mail and reaching over Monica's shoulder to take two plates from the shelves. "I mean, you have to cook all week. If you want to take a break and just order Chinese or something, that's OK."

"No, I like cooking for you," Monica said, moving to the side so he could grab forks and knives from a drawer. "And I hate to think of that crap you must be eating all week while I'm gone."

"Hey, I was doing OK before we moved in."

"What are you talking about?" Monica said, laughing. "You were so skinny. We were worried."

"Really," Chandler asked, looking pleased at her apparent thoughtfulness. "Wait, are you saying I'm fat now? Do I look fat?"

"Are you a woman?"

"OK, never mind," Chandler said. He grabbed two wine glasses from the shelves and poured drinks for both of them, handing her one glass before sipping from his own, grimacing at his sore throat. "So what'd you do today?"

"Are you kidding?" Monica asked in disbelief. "Did you see that ring of grime in the bathtub? And is it really so hard to wipe up the toothpaste you leak on the counter?"

"Hey, I-"

Monica stopped him before he could apologize. "Don't worry about it. I know you're doing your best to keep the place clean. And thanks for trying," she said, pulling the lasagna out of the oven. She put down her oven mitts and sliced two huge chunks for them.

"So how was your day?" she asked as Chandler sat at the kitchen table and she set a full plate in front of him.

"Oh, fine," Chandler said, waiting for her to sit down with him. "I mean, if you call eight thrilling hours of editing other people's data entry work fine. Which, of course, I do, because that's what I've dedicated my life to."

"Eight hours?" Monica said, lifting her eyebrows in skepticism.

"OK, five hours." Monica continued to stare. "Three hours. But have you ever tried to stare at spreadsheets for three hours? The numbers start taking on personalities. Today the 5s were my favorite. So round and cute, like little fat men wearing baseball caps."

Monica had started to eat. Chandler sighed and picked up his fork.

"Yes, I'm pathetic," he said and started in on his lasagna.

"No, sweetie, you're not pathetic," Monica said, swallowing a mouthful of pasta. "It's just your job that's pathetic."

Chandler rolled his eyes.

"Well, at least I got out of the office for lunch today," he said. "Veronica and I-"

"Veronica?" Monica asked. "Isn't she the one that Joey says has the biggest breasts-"

"Oh yeah," Chandler said, his voice husky and his eyes glazing over. He stopped when he realized Monica was just staring at him. "Yes, they're horrible breasts. Too big. Very unattractive. Some might even say inhuman."

"So, you had lunch with Veronica. Where'd you go?" Monica asked, pretending to be interested in her lasagna again. Chandler felt trapped.

"That Italian place around the corner."

"What? You took me to that place," Monica said, her voice rising. "That was our place!"

"We have a place?" Chandler sputtered, recognizing immediately that was the wrong thing to say. "Mon, I take everyone there. It's practically next door to my office. I go there like twice a week."

"With Veronica?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Today with Veronica. Twice a week with other people. No, not other people, not other women, you know, coworkers, and sometimes, sometimes I go there by myself," Chandler was in full panic mode now, his eyes wide and his arms flailing about his head. Monica stared crossly at him. Then she took another bite of lasagna and sat still, eating it slowly and thoughtfully. Chandler just looked scared.

"You're not mad, right?" he finally asked. "Because, because I didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't a date or anything. It wasn't even fun. It was boring and she talked funny and she didn't laugh at any of my jokes."

Monica was still quiet, looking deep in thought. And she was. She felt so suddenly jealous about this woman, and she didn't know why. So what if Chandler had lunch with a gorgeous coworker? Clearly it wasn't a big deal. But then why was he so upset about it? Why did he seem so determined to make her believe it wasn't a big deal?

'Because it wasn't,' Monica told herself. She finally looked up, and found that Chandler was staring at his plate, a bewildered and hurt look on his face.

"No, of course I'm not mad," Monica said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry, it's just I haven't seen much of you lately, so I guess I get jealous to hear about you spending time with some gorgeous coworker." That sounded reasonable, she decided.

"Hey, there's nothing to be jealous about," Chandler said. "All I talked about was you, anyway. And her breasts? Very unattractive. Just wrong. Bad."

"OK, enough with the breasts," Monica said. "Are you done?" She pointed to his plate, which he had pushed away from himself a few minutes ago. He nodded and she got up to dump the plates in the sink.

Chandler's words stuck with her, and not the part about Veronica's breasts. He said all he could do was talk about her. That was very sweet, she thought. And just before another guilty idea could pop into her head, she started scrubbing the dinner dishes. She didn't notice that neither of them had taken more than three bites of their dinner.

+++++

Monica was having breakfast with Phoebe the next morning when she brought up her dinner with Chandler from the night before.

"I was so totally jealous," she said. "I've never been like that before. And I made him feel so guilty about it."

"Yeah, that's because you feel guilty," Phoebe said around a mouthful of cereal.

"What? That doesn't make any sense," Monica insisted. "What do I feel guilty about?"

"The cute waiter," Phoebe said. "And man, is he cute. Don't you just love waiter arms? They're all buff from lifting those trays."

"I don't feel guilty about that," Monica said. "It's just an innocent crush. Not even that much. It's just, just me acknowledging that yes, I work with an attractive man. Yes, he has a nice smile, and yes, he's funny but not in a sarcastic, over-the-top way, and yes, he's a little flirty-"

"And yes, so are you," Phoebe finished for her.

"So am I what?" Monica asked.

"Flirty."

"I am not flirty," Monica protested. "I do not flirt with Ted."

"OK, then why do you think you're jealous with Chandler?" Phoebe asked.

"Well," Monica began, thinking it over, "for starters, he has a history of cheating."

"What are you talking about?" Phoebe sounded incredulous. "Chandler has enough problem getting one girl to go out with him. How would he get two?"

"Remember Kathy? He kissed her while she was still with Joey. And, and Janice? She got back with her husband while Chandler was with her. And there was that married woman who was having all the affairs, he slept with her," Monica said, sounding flustered.

"None of those count," Phoebe said. "First, duh, Janice cheated on him. And as for the other two, the women were cheating on their boyfriends. He wasn't the cheater. He was, you know, the 'other man.'"

"It's the same thing," Monica said. "It's all cheating."

"It is not the same thing," Phoebe insisted. "You have the cheater, and the cheatee, and then the third party cheat...um...cheatant."

"Cheatant?"

"Yeah, you know, like the cheater's assistant. The cheatant," Phoebe said smugly.

Monica just rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. It's still not being faithful," she said. "And I am not flirting."

And it was Phoebe's turn to roll her eyes.

+++++

When Monica got home from work that night it was almost 1 a.m. Chandler, as usual, was already asleep, but she didn't bother waking him up, as she often did so he could say a sleepy goodnight and exchange kisses with her. She woke up early the next morning, but he was already gone. It struck her that for the first time since they'd moved in together, they hadn't exchanged a word in more than 24 hours.

The restaurant that night was unbearably slow. It was snowing, and the weather was keeping most of the customers away. At 9, Monica sent several of the waiters and busboys home early. Ted stuck around, perched on a stool in the kitchen and keeping her company while she practiced some of her more daring recipes.

As she slid a delicate tart into the oven, Monica glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was already 11. The tart needed to bake for just 20 minutes. She could be home before midnight, with plenty of time to catch Chandler still awake. She turned around to find that Ted was now leaning against the sink, not two feet from where she was standing. She jumped back in surprise, and he reached out his arms to stop her.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he said, holding onto her elbows. Monica rested a hand against her chest and took a deep breath.

"No, no, I've just had a lot on my mind," she said, smiling at him and turning on the water so she could wash hands. He stayed next to her.

"Yeah, I've been thinking a lot too," he said, leaning over the sink next to her so he could rest his elbows on the counter, his eyes now even with hers.

"Really? What about?" Monica asked, turning off the water and reaching behind her for a towel.

"Well, you," Ted said softly. Monica stopped drying her hands.

"Me?"

"Yeah," Ted said, reaching one hand over and rubbing the small of her back. "I've been thinking that maybe, well, maybe I should do this." And he leaned in to kiss her.

Monica stood very still, her eyes open wide in shock. She was very aware of Ted's right hand on her back, of his left hand reaching to cup her cheek and turn her face toward him. She felt hyper sensitive, even noticing his breath on her chin and the calluses on his fingertips.

Worst of all, she felt her own reactions. She hadn't expected this move from him at all, but she felt her legs shaking, her hands gripping the edge of the sink, even felt her eyes sliding shut and her lips parting for him. She wanted this.

And then her eyes popped open in alarm, she gasped as though she hadn't been breathing and she took an abrupt step back, reaching down to push his arm away from her waist.

"What, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"What?" he asked, looking honestly perplexed. "Oh my God, oh God, you didn't want this?"

"No. No. Why would you think that?" Monica said, willing herself to stop trembling and taking another step away from Ted. What had she been thinking?

"Wow. I totally misread that," Ted said, shaking his head.

"Why would you think I wanted that?" Monica asked again.

"I thought you liked me," Ted said. "Oh man, this is so embarrassing."

"Why would you think I liked you?" Monica was starting to panic.

"Look, just forget about it, OK?" Ted said, peering around the room as though looking for an escape route.

"No, I really need to know. Why did you think I liked you?"

At the serious look on Monica's face, Ted finally spoke up.

"I just thought you were flirting with me," he said. "You know, staying late with me, making me try all your food, laughing at all my stupid jokes."

"But, but I do that with all my friends," Monica insisted. "That's not flirting."

"Yeah, but you kept, you know, touching me and smiling at me," Ted insisted. "I mean, you must've retied my apron like six times tonight. Hell, you even brushed the hair out of my eyes. I've seen the movies. When a chick touches your hair, that means she's totally into you."

Monica opened her mouth to protest. Had she really done all those things? Had she touched his hair? She hadn't even been aware of it. She closed her mouth, taking a minute to think before she spoke again.

"But I have a boyfriend," she said quietly.

"What?" Ted said, a bit of anger creeping into his voice. "We've been hanging out for like 10 hours almost every day for two weeks, and you never mentioned a boyfriend. What's up with that?"

"It never came up," Monica said, and her voice sounded weak even to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

Ted had gone home a full 15 minutes before Monica smelled the tart burning in the oven, snatching it from the heat and setting it outside just before the smoke detectors went off

Ted left the restaurant almost immediately after Monica told him about Chandler. As he shrugged on his jacket and headed to the door, he told her not to worry about what had happened between them. He wouldn't tell anyone at work, and he wouldn't hold it against her. He wasn't happy with the way things had turned out; the way Ted saw it, she had lied to him, had led him on. But glancing at Monica, who was leaning heavily against the sink, her pale face pulled in a tight frown, he saw that she clearly would be having the harder time dealing with the repercussions of their near-kiss. She didn't even look up as he walked out the door.

Ted had gone home a full 15 minutes before Monica smelled the tart burning in the oven. She snatched it from the heat and set it outside before the smoke detectors could go off. She had been sitting alone in the kitchen, the conversation with Ted replaying in her mind.

She felt terrible, as though she had cheated on Chandler. And even if she hadn't technically cheated on him, she certainly had betrayed him. She kept imagining if Chandler had done something like this to her. She didn't know if she'd be able to get over it. Forgive him, yes. But forget about it? Forget that he'd come that close to kissing another woman? That'd he'd been practically lying about his relationship for two weeks? What would this do to him?

It was just after midnight when Monica got home. She stepped very quietly into the apartment, half hoping that he would be asleep already, so she could avoid facing him for at least another day. She'd already decided she would tell him everything. If she insisted on total honesty from him, she had to give him the same.

When she got to their bedroom, her stomach dropped when she saw that the bed was empty. The covers weren't even pulled back. He wasn't home at all. She had a moment of panic as she wondered whether he could have already found out about her actions, and was now camped out at Ross's or Joey's, refusing to see her.

But Monica forced herself to think logically, and assumed that he was probably just hanging out with their friends, maybe waiting for her to come home. She stepped across the hall to Joey's apartment and knocked softly on the door before opening it.

Joey was sitting in an armchair, watching what looked like "Cops" with the sound turned so low she could only hear a dull hum coming from the TV. He looked up when she entered, and immediately put a finger to his lips to shush her before she could speak. Monica walked over to him, and he tilted his head toward the recliner.

Chandler was asleep in the chair, which was reclined halfway back. He was wearing a dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck, his tie slung over the table next to him. He was still in his suit pants, his feet, stuck in mismatched socks, resting on the foot of the recliner. He was hunkered low in the chair, his head tilted so low to the right it was almost resting on his shoulder. A blanket was wrapped loosely around him, and his cheeks were flushed.

Monica gave Joey a quizzical look, and he gestured for her to join him in the kitchen.

"He's sick," Joey whispered. "He had some big report due at work today, or else he would have stayed home. Can you believe it? The one time he actually has a good reason for avoiding work."

"He's sick?" Monica asked, concern wrinkling her forehead. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, he was feeling terrible all day yesterday. Fever and headaches and cough. Dude, you should've seen the crap he coughed up last night. Looked like something from my refrigerator."

"He was sick last night?" Monica asked. How could she have not known? She had slept in the same bed with him last night. Joey didn't notice the distress Monica was in and kept talking.

"Yeah, but today was really awful," Joey said. "I should've just put him to bed, but, well, he didn't seem to want to be alone, so I let him hang out here tonight. He crashed like 10 minutes into the Simpsons. Can you believe that? Sleeping through the Simpsons?"

Monica had never felt so guilty before. It was like someone had just thrown a basketball into her stomach, and all she wanted to do was curl up on the floor and pretend this wasn't happening. She had been making some strange man think she was in love with him. She had even made Chandler think he was the one betraying her trust. And here he was now, curled up in a chair in Joey's apartment, sick. This was all so unforgivable.

"Hey, you OK?" Joey asked when Monica hadn't spoken for a minute. She was jolted out of her thoughts, and quickly nodded.

"Yes. I'm fine. I just, I didn't know he was sick," she said. "I should get him home. You think it's OK to wake him up?"

"Yeah, he's been asleep most of the night anyway," Joey said, and moved over to the chair. He nudged Chandler's shoulder. Chandler just mumbled softly and sunk deeper into the chair, so Joey pushed harder at his shoulder.

"Here, let me," Monica said. She crouched at his side and touched his face, surprised at how warm he felt. "Did you take his temperature?"

"Hey, maybe I've played a doctor on TV, but I leave that fancy medical stuff to the real doctors," Joey said, throwing his hands up. Monica just looked annoyed.

"He's really warm," she said, and then tried to wake him. "Chandler," she said, rubbing his shoulders with both hands. "C'mon, time to go to bed."

"Not now, Mon," Chandler said sleepily. "You know it won't work when I'm tired."

Monica glanced sharply at Joey, daring him to comment, and he had the good sense to look away. But he couldn't help muttering under his breath, "A disgrace to us all."

Monica ignored him. "Sweetie? You just have to get up and walk across the hall, OK? Then we'll get you into some pajamas and you can sleep all you want." Hell, for that matter, she hoped he'd sleep for several days _ anything to delay the conversation she was dreading.

"Monica?" Chandler said, blinking several times and finally looking up at her. "What time is it?"

"Um, 12:30," she said. "Feel like getting up for a minute?"

"Sure," he said, and smiled up at her, opening his mouth to speak again. But whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a flurry of coughs that made his eyes water and left him gasping for breath. Joey grabbed the glass of water sitting on the coffee table and handed it to Monica, who waited until Chandler's coughs had slowed down before letting him sip from the cup.

"OK, let's try that again," Monica said, and grabbed Chandler's arms so she could help him stand, Joey pushing the back of the chair into the upright position. Chandler wobbled a bit once he was on his feet, but seemed to regain his equilibrium, and Monica led him back to the apartment, leaving his shoes and tie behind.

+++++

Monica slept maybe four hours that night. After getting Chandler to their bedroom, she sat him against the headboard, pillows stuffed behind his back, and then looked for the thermometer. She'd been right to worry about his fever _ his temperature had spiked to 103 degrees. She quickly stripped him down to his boxers, leaving on his socks, and after forcing him to swallow two aspirin, let him lie down on top of their covers, with only a light blanket covering him. She spent the next hour keeping him cool with wet washcloths, and by 3 a.m., his fever was down to a more acceptable 101.5 degrees.

Chandler slept uneasily, though, breaking into fits of coughing that kept waking him and tossing under the blanket, the fever combined with the chills from the washcloth and the cool night air making him uncomfortable and cranky. He kept complaining about being too hot, and then begging Monica for more blankets.

It was 4:30 a.m. before they both truly fell asleep, Monica curled up close at his side, her hand clutching his shoulder. She woke up again just three hours later to Chandler coughing. He stopped before waking himself.

Monica couldn't fall back asleep, so she got up and made some coffee and started cleaning the apartment, a task that always relaxed her. At 9, she called Chandler's office and her restaurant. There was no way she was leaving Chandler's side today.

He slept through most of the morning, fully waking at about 11. He was still tired and weak, but insisted on taking a shower. The hours of fever had left him covered in a sticky sweat, and he'd been too exhausted to shower at all the day before. He went straight back to bed after the shower, and didn't wake up again until 2, when Monica slid next to him on the bed to see if he was interested in some chicken noodle soup. He just looked baffled.

"Soup. Do you want any soup?" Monica asked, assuming he was so groggy from sleeping that he hadn't understood her question the first time. He stared up at her from the bed.

"Why are you here?" he asked, confused.

"What?"

"It's Thursday, right?" Monica nodded. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Chandler, you're sick," she said. "I told them I couldn't come in."

"Really?" he asked. "Wow, that's all it took to get you to stay home with me? A little cold? Why didn't I do this weeks ago?"

"A little cold?" Monica asked in disbelief. "Sweetie, you had a 103-degree temperature last night. That's not really a little cold. I can't believe you went to work yesterday. I can't believe you didn't tell me you were sick."

"I didn't think it was a big deal," Chandler said, pushing up on his elbows and looking dazedly around the room until his eyes fell back on her. "Anyway, I'm just glad you're here now."

"Do you feel up to some soup?" she asked again.

"Not really," he said. "Nothing really sounds good."

"But you should eat something," Monica said. "How about you get out of bed, we settle you in front of the TV, and then you can try eating some toast or something?"

Chandler felt tired and weak, but agreed that getting out of the rumpled bed and the stale room sounded tempting. He let Monica help him up, pulled his pajama bottoms on over his boxer shorts and slung a T-shirt over his head, and then tromped in his socks to the living room, where he slumped into his recliner. He picked up the remote and flipped quickly through the channels, feeling too sick and foggy-headed to take an interest in anything that was on TV. When Monica brought him a tray with a cup of soup, some crackers and water on it, he turned off the television.

He managed to finish half the soup and all of the crackers, his head clearing as he ate. Monica sat near him on the end of the couch the whole time, absently playing with the fringe of a blanket. She didn't eat anything and they didn't talk. When she heard the clink from Chandler letting the spoon fall into the soup cup, she asked if he was done. At his nod, she got up and carried the dishes back into the kitchen.

She stopped at the kitchen sink a moment, gripping the edge of the counter and taking deep breaths. It was time to tell him. She walked back to his chair and stood beside it, rubbing her hands in front of her.

"Chandler, we've got to talk."

The words hit him hard. They never preceded good news. It was never, "Chandler, we've got to talk, what would you think about a threesome?" or, "We've got to talk, look at this fancy new jacket I bought you." It was always bad. Chandler felt suddenly nervous, the soup heavy in his stomach.

"No we don't," he said, the sentence coming out as one word.

"Yes, we do."

"No, we don't."

Monica sighed. "Fine," she said. "I have to talk."

Chandler opened his mouth to speak, but Monica lifted her hand, motioning for him to stop. When he closed his mouth and sat back in the chair again, a resigned frown creasing his forehead, she put her hand down and wiped both sweaty palms on her pants.

She had been going over the words in her head for several hours _ all night, in fact _ but now that she was facing him, Monica wasn't sure what to say. He was searching her face for some clue of what was troubling her, trying to catch her eyes, but she kept looking away. When he finally leaned forward and tried to hold her hands in his own, she backed up and began pacing in front of the TV.

"I almost kissed another man last night," she blurted out, and now that she had started, she wouldn't stop. "We were in the kitchen, at the restaurant, and he said I was flirting. I didn't know I was, I didn't know I was flirting, I didn't mean to, but he said, he said he thought I was interested, that I liked him. And I didn't, I didn't, I don't like him, because I love you. But he didn't know that, because I didn't tell him. God, I didn't tell him. I was flirting with another man and I didn't tell him about you and he thought I liked him and he tried to kiss me."

She stopped. She pulled her hands through her hair then crossed them over her chest. She looked at Chandler. He was very still, staring at some point on the coffee table.

"I'm so sorry," Monica said, kneeling in front of him. "Please, say something."

"Did you kiss him?" Chandler asked.

Monica shook her head before she could find her voice, her eyes filling with tears. "No," she whispered, her voice shaking. And then, stronger, "No."

Chandler glanced at her then looked away. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, finally resting his forehead in his palm.

His body felt heavy, like he didn't have the strength to so much as lift his head or cross his legs. He felt detached from this whole scene, as though the words he'd just heard, the woman kneeling at his side, even the sirens wailing on the street below, were all coming from a movie he was just watching.

She hadn't kissed him. That was something. It crossed his mind that this wasn't a break-up worthy transgression. But still, it was bad. There had been some kind of shift in their relationship _ clearly there was more to this situation than Monica had spat out just now. But before they talked it over, before he could say a word to her, he had to know where he stood, because he had never seen anything like this coming.

It sounded odd, he knew, but one of the things he liked about his relationship with Monica was their fights. Like any long-term, well-established couple, they had their fair share of them. But, for the most part, they weren't damaging fights. They weren't necessarily productive _ in hindsight, their last big fight, over the fate of the spare bedroom, had been petty and pointless. But in the end, no one got hurt.

He suspected it was because they usually made a habit of avoiding each other when they were angry. When they fought, one or both of them would walk away before the yelling could turn nasty. Chandler remembered the long, drawn-out battles between his parents, when they would sometimes hurl insults at each other for hours on end. But with Monica, one of them would just walk away, and a few hours later they would be tripping over each other to apologize. And they were very good at the make-up sex.

Chandler wasn't so naïve to believe that this situation would be resolved so easily. For starters, he certainly had nothing to apologize for. And the way he was feeling, there wasn't going to be make-up sex any time soon. But he knew it could be resolved. If only he could get some space. With Monica kneeling in front of him still, he felt trapped. There was no way he was talking to her right now. And if she stayed put, he was going to say things he'd later regret.

Damn but his head was throbbing.

He slowly rubbed at his temples, and then drew his hand over his face, the stubble from a day without shaving scratching his palm. He picked both hands up and rubbed at his eyes until he could see stars bursting under his eyelids. The headache that had receded to a dull pressure at the base of his head was now back in force, building behind his eyes, pushing at his temples. He felt himself grimace at the pain as he dropped his hands away from his face and balled them into fists on his thighs.

"Are you OK?" Monica asked softly, sounding shy and concerned. He saw her reach a shaky hand out to him, and then pull back.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice harsh and short.

"What do you want me to do?"

He sighed. "I don't know. Nothing." He leaned back in the chair and put his face in his hands again. "Look, I just, I need to think about this. I need to get out of-"

"You can't," Monica said, cutting him off. "You can't go anywhere. You're sick."

"I know," he said, giving her a meaningful look then turning away. "But I can't, I can't talk to you now. I can't be around you now."

Monica stared up at him for a moment, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. She looked away and leaned back on her heels, pulling a hand through her hair.

"OK. Um, I'll leave. Do you want me to leave?" Chandler just frowned and barely nodded. Monica stood up and grabbed her jacket as she walked out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Monica was crying by the time she reached the stairs

Monica was crying by the time she reached the stairs. She was taking deep, shuddery breaths and barely holding in outright sobs by the time she hit the lobby. She pushed open the door with her shoulder, her head ducked down, collar pulled up around her chin, just as Joey stepped up to the building with Rachel and Phoebe.

"Monica? What's wrong?" Rachel asked, stopping Monica in the doorway and grabbing her by an elbow. "What's going on?"

"I told him everything," Monica said, her voice choked. "Now he hates me. I had to leave. He wanted me to leave. Oh my God, he'll never forgive me."

"Mon, calm down," Joey said, shepherding the women into the lobby and out of the cold. "What did you tell him? And who's him? Chandler?"

"I told him about Ted," Monica said, wiping at the tears on her face.

"That guy you have a crush on? You told Chandler about him?" Joey asked, his eyes wide in horror. "What? Why? Why would you tell him about that guy? Is this about that honesty crap you guys talk about? What's up with that? Why can't you guys just lie like normal people?"

"Because we almost kissed last night," Monica said flatly.

Rachel and Phoebe stared at her in shock, their eyes wide and mouths open.

"But you kiss Chandler all the time," Joey said, clearly confused.

"Not Chandler," Monica said. "I almost kissed Ted last night."

"Nice," Joey drawled, and then stopped. "No. No, no, no. Not nice. What about Chandler? How could you do that to him?"

"I don't know," Monica said, and she started crying again. Rachel and Phoebe wrapped their arms around her, Rachel stroking her hair.

"Come on, Monica, Chandler will get over this," Phoebe said. "He may have his faults. He may have a totally inappropriate sense of humor. He may be a big geek. He may have no sense of style at all. Maybe his job is boring. May-" She stopped when she saw three glares shooting her way. "OK, OK, but the thing is, he loves you. Like a lot. And he won't give you up."

Monica nodded, fresh tears brightening her eyes.

"Mon, hon, let's just go upstairs, talk this over, give Chandler some time to himself. And then you guys will work all this out. OK?" Rachel said. "We'll just hang out at Joey's for a little while."

Monica nodded again and let them lead her back upstairs. When they reached the hallway between the two apartments, she stopped and looked longingly at her door. Then she turned to Joey.

"Will you go in there and talk to him, Joey?" she asked. "You don't have to persuade him to forgive me. Just make sure he's OK. He shouldn't be alone. He's still sick, and he was so quiet when I left. I don't want him to be alone."

"Yeah, of course," Joey said, opening the door to his apartment so the women could go inside. Before he closed the door, he gave Monica a stern stare.

"You know, I never expected something like this from you, Monica," Joey said, and Monica stopped and turned to look back at him. "I mean, Rachel or Phoebe, maybe. But you, I never thought you'd hurt him like that."

"Hey," Rachel and Phoebe said at the same time, pushing themselves in front of Monica. But Monica interrupted them before they could finish their thoughts.

"No, he's right," she said. "I didn't think I was capable of something like this either. I'm a terrible person."

"Well, yeah, he's right about that," Rachel said. "But what do you mean, you'd expect this from me or Phoebe? I'd never-"

"Actually, no, he's right," Phoebe interrupted. "We'd totally cheat on our boyfriends."

"I would not!" Rachel said indignantly. Phoebe gave Joey a knowing look then faced Rachel.

"Right, of course not," she said, and wrapped an arm around Monica again to guide her the rest of the way into the apartment.

After they had closed the door, Joey walked over to Chandler and Monica's apartment and knocked softly. He let himself in before Chandler could answer. Chandler looked up and mumbled a quick "hey."

"Hey," Joey called back. He crossed the room and sat at the end of the couch, near Chandler.

Chandler was sitting stony-faced in his recliner, his feet planted on the floor, his hands still balled into fists in his lap. A blanket that had been covering his legs now was in a heap at his feat. The chair was upright, but he was leaning back into it, the back of his head resting against the top section, his eyes fixed on some point on the coffee table. His cheeks were still flushed pink from the fever.

"So, you enjoying your day off?" Joey asked, his eyebrows arched and a hopeful look on his face. Chandler just scowled at him. "Look, we ran into Monica in the hall," Joey said. "She was real upset. She told us everything. I'm sorry, man."

Chandler glanced at his friend, opened his mouth as though to speak, and then closed it and looked away. He didn't know what to say.

"She feels terrible," Joey continued. "She was all crying and upset. She feels really bad about what happened." When Chandler still didn't say anything, Joey finally asked, "What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know," Chandler said, his voice soft and hoarse. He cleared his throat and said again, "I don't know."

Chandler looked around the room then, as if hoping the objects he saw might give him some answers, like the silver candlesticks might tell him to just forgive her or the throw pillow on the couch might tell him to just throw something at her. But then he closed his eyes, tilting his head up toward the ceiling.

"I know she didn't cheat on me," he said. "I know I should be glad at least for that. But this changes everything."

He stopped and looked at Joey and leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were bright and watery, with heavy dark shadows under them. The effect made them look very blue.

"It's like, it's like before we were this fantastic, amazing, incredible couple," he said. "We were in love and it was so easy. I never doubted my feelings for her, and I never, I never doubted her feelings for me. You know those horrible things couples do to each other? Cheating and lying and hurting? We didn't have any of that. We were better than all that. And now we're not. Now we're, we're just one of those couples, those couples that do shitty things to each other. Those couples that doubt each other. And I hate that."

Joey looked honestly shocked at Chandler's words.

"God, Chandler, that's so not true," he said. "You're right, you guys are totally great together. But you're also real people, and real people screw up. And sometimes they screw up big time. But look at how much she loves you. She couldn't stop crying, Chandler. I've never seen her like that before. And she didn't even kiss the guy. She didn't do anything."

"I know," Chandler said sharply.

"Then what are you gonna do?"

He sighed and closed his eyes again. "I don't know."

Joey stayed for another 30 minutes before Chandler asked him to leave, insisting that he would be OK and that he really needed some time to himself. Back at his apartment, Joey saw that Monica had curled up on his yellow couch and was staring into space. Rachel and Phoebe sat at the kitchen counter. Monica, they said, wouldn't talk to them.

Monica returned to her apartment about two hours after she had left. It was after 5, dusk outside, and with no lights on in the apartment, the kitchen and living room looked dusty and colorless. She turned on the light in the kitchen and glanced at the recliner. Chandler had fallen asleep in the chair, his head turned toward the door.

She set her keys on the table, careful to not make any noise, and walked around the couch to him, studying his face. He looked tired and sick and even in his sleep he was frowning. She saw the blanket bunched up at his feet, and picked it up to cover him again. Once she had draped it lightly over his shoulders, she rested the back of her hand over his forehead. It was too warm again. She realized he hadn't taken any aspirin for the fever since his shower that morning. She was toying with the idea of waking him, making him take the medicine, when he opened his.

In the dim room, Chandler squinted at Monica, blinking his red-rimmed eyes several times. He looked confused.

"You should take some more aspirin," she said. He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. She went to the bathroom to gather two aspirin for him, and then returned to his side, handing him the pills and the half-empty glass of water left from his lunch. He swallowed the pills, coughing after the first sip, and then handed the glass back to her.

"I'm so sorry," she started.

"It's OK," he said.

"No, it's not OK. It's not OK at all."

Chandler sighed, but kept his eyes on her. "You're right," he said. "It's not OK. But it will be."

"Will it?" she asked. She sat down on the couch and rubbed her hands, her hair hanging in her face.

"You didn't kiss him," he said.

"No," she said, shaking her head, uncombed hair swaying in front of her face. "But what happened, what I did, it's horrible. If the situation had been reversed? If you'd done this to me? God, I don't know what I'd do. I feel awful. I hate what I did."

"I know," he said. He leaned forward and took her hands in his own. "Tell me what happened."

So Monica told him everything, from the first day she saw Ted, when he told the dinner crew to behave, to their long nights chatting and laughing and how Rachel and Phoebe told her it was a crush. She told him about the previous night, and all the things Ted had said to her: that she'd been flirting, that he thought she'd liked him, that she'd never mentioned Chandler before. She told him how he tried to kiss her.

She went on for 10 minutes, staring at her hands the whole time she was talking, refusing to look up at him. When she stopped, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"This is all my fault," Chandler said, and her head popped up. He could see wet streaks running down her cheeks and her eyes were still watery. "I knew you were a dangerous flirt. And I let you do it. Hell, I told you to do it."

And, to Monica's amazement, Chandler smiled at her.

"You're just too hot," he said. "That's the problem with having a hot girlfriend. What would you say to putting on a few of those high school pounds? Or shaving your head? How do you feel about facial tattoos?"

He was joking. Monica was speechless. When she didn't say anything, didn't even smile at him, just gaped at him, Chandler stopped smiling and started speaking in a soft, even voice.

"Look, I'm not saying I'm OK with this," he said, studying their clasped hands. "It hurts, what you did, what you just told me. And we're going to have to talk this over, figure out what this means, where it came from. But I know you love me-"

"Yes," Monica said, nodding. Chandler smiled again.

"And I know I love you," he continued. "And I know we can deal with this."

Monica nodded again. Chandler leaned forward and kissed her, breaking contact after only a second to cough. Monica let go of his hands and rubbed his back, and when he had recovered, he wrapped her into a hug.

"So what are you going to say to this waiter guy when you see him tomorrow?" Chandler asked after they had broken their embrace. He leaned back in his chair and pretended to inspect his fingernails.

"I won't be seeing him tomorrow," Monica said. "In fact, I won't be seeing much of him at all. I told them I can't work nights anymore."

"What?" Chandler said, dropping his hands and lifting his eyes.

"When I called in sick this morning, I told them the dinner menu is done," she said. "I told them I had to take the rest of the week off, and I'd come in Monday to go over the menu with the regular night chef. I'll still have to work nights from time to time like I always did, but starting next week, I'm back on the lunch shift."

"Thank God," Chandler said, closing his eyes in relief. "I mean, it's not that I don't trust you with this guy, but, well, I don't. I mean, you did almost kiss him."

"Almost," Monica said.

"Almost," Chandler repeated. "Anyway, that's not the point. I've missed you. And I'm damn tired of paying for Joey's dinner every night."

Chandler was sleepy after their talk, and when Monica saw him blinking rapidly and yawning, she suggested he try to nap again. He didn't argue, and was asleep within a few minutes. As she was watching him sleep, his chest lifting the blanket with each even breath he took, she was hit with a sudden pang of hunger and realized she hadn't eaten all day. And then it occurred to her just what a long day it had been.

She and Chandler didn't return to their conversation for the rest of the night. Chandler was still wiped out from the fever and the general weariness from being sick, so he gave up on the recliner at about 8 and returned to bed. He didn't fully wake up again until early the next morning, when he found Monica clinging to him in her sleep. He was still angry, he decided, but he nonetheless pulled her closer to him and went back to sleep

Later that morning, Ross, Rachel and Phoebe gathered at Joey's apartment, talking in hushed, somber tones about what they'd seen the day before, Rachel and Phoebe filling Ross in on the fight. The three of them had persuaded Joey to go across the hall and find out what was going on and now, 15 minutes later, were waiting for his return with fresh gossip.

"I told you these crushes were a bad idea," Ross said. "If you're in a committed relationship, why do you need to look around?"

"What, like you never notice good looking women when you've got a girlfriend?" Phoebe asked. She was perched on a stool in front of the counter, buttering a slice of toast.

"Nope," Ross said.

"Oh, please," Rachel said, filing her nails as she sat in Joey's recliner. "I still say it's fine as long as you don't act on it. Everyone looks."

"OK, fine, you can look, for like a second, but you shouldn't dwell on it, not to the point where it jeopardizes your current relationship," Ross said. "And, and a crush? That's always a bad idea. That's taking it too far."

"You had a crush on me while you were dating Julie," Rachel said. "In fact, you even cheated on her."

"That's exactly my point," Ross said. "When you're in a committed relationship, you shouldn't be looking. I mean, what if you find someone better?"

"Then you dump his ass and go with the new guy," Phoebe said.

"But if you're constantly looking at the better guy, um, girl, whatever, then you're not even in a committed relationship," Ross said. "Eventually, you've got to just be happy with the person you're with."

"Ross, if you'd done that with Julie, you and I never would've gotten together," Rachel said softly.

Ross stopped and locked eyes with Rachel. He nodded shortly. Then he turned away and opened Joey's refrigerator to search for some juice. After a few minutes of silence, he said, "So, Monica really was crying in the lobby?"

"Sobbing is more like it," Phoebe said, agreeing to the change of subject. "I haven't seen a mascara disaster that bad since the day I met Rachel in her wedding dress."

"My mascara wasn't messed up then," Rachel said. "You think I didn't check when I locked myself in that bathroom?"

"I wasn't talking about you. So self-centered," Phoebe said. "No, yeah, my friend Rebecca. Her dad died that day."

"Oh, that's sad," Rachel said.

"What? Yeah, I guess," Phoebe said. "But that's not why she was crying. That was the day she forgot how to whistle. She was never the same after that."

Ross, exchanging a bemused look with Rachel, started to speak up when the door opened and Joey walked in, carrying a loaded plate and mumbling a muffled "hey" around a mouthful of French toast. Everyone waited a minute for Joey to say something more, but he just went back to eating and didn't look up from the plate.

"So, Joe, what's going on?" Ross finally asked.

"Monica makes incredible French toast," Joey said after swallowing a bite. "Did you know that? Crunchy on the outside, light and chewy on the inside. She even puts a touch of nut-"

"What's going on with her and Chandler?" Ross blurted out.

"Oh, right," Joey said, setting down his fork but hanging onto the plate. "They're OK, I guess. Chandler was asleep, but Monica said they talked last night and she thinks they'll work things out."

"Man, I hope so," Ross said, and then nodded a head toward Joey's plate. "That smells good. Why'd she make you French toast anyway?"

"Yeah, no offense, Joey, but that seems a little extravagant for you on a Friday morning," Rachel said.

"Monica was cleaning out the refrigerator when I got there, so she had a bunch of food she wanted to get rid of and offered to make me-"

"Wait," Ross interrupted. "Monica was cleaning out the refrigerator?"

"Yeah, so she had eggs and milk and-"

"What do you mean, cleaning out the refrigerator?" Rachel asked, getting up from her chair.

"What?" Joey asked.

"Describe the scene. Describe it exactly," Phoebe ordered, throwing a nervous glance at Ross and Rachel, who were now standing at her side.

"Well," Joey started, his brow creased in confusion. "She had all of the food on the kitchen table, and all of the drawers lined up on towels on the floor, and she was scrubbing the inside of the door."

"Was the refrigerator unplugged?" Rachel asked.

"Did she move it away from the wall so she could reach behind?" Ross asked.

"Was she wearing her kneepads?" Phoebe asked.

Joey looked panicked for a moment, his eyes darting between the three of them as he tried to keep up with their questions.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes!" he finally yelled. "Why? Why does it matter?"

"Oh, no," Phoebe said, lowering her eyes as a depressed frown crossed her face.

"Yeah, it must be bad," Rachel said.

"What's bad?" Joey asked, still trying to catch their eyes.

"Maybe one of us should go be with her?" Ross asked, looking at the two women, who shook their heads.

"No, she has to do this on her own," Phoebe said, and Rachel nodded at her.

"Why? Why does she have to do it on her own?" Ross asked.

"Do what on her own?" Joey asked.

"She just does," Rachel said. "She has to work things out with Chandler, and then she'll come to us when she needs us."

"Look, I'm sure they'll be fine," Phoebe said, nodding sharply. "They just need to talk about it. Clear the air. But first, she'll clear the refrigerator."

"Exactly," Rachel said.

"If you guys say so," Ross said, sounding decidedly unsure.

They all finally looked back to Joey. He had given up on them and was munching happily at his French toast.

Chandler and Monica did in fact spend much of Friday talking things over.

Monica knew that she didn't like Ted, per se, but had simply liked the attention she got from him. She had liked knowing that she could still reel in the men, even if she hadn't been consciously trying to catch this one. And, when she thought about it, she had liked the flirting.

She tried to explain all of this to Chandler. She described to him again the circumstances that led to the near-kiss, the late nights she spent with Ted and how she enjoyed his company. It wasn't that she preferred Ted's company over Chandler's, she said. It was just something new and different a feeling she hadn't experienced since the two of them had hooked up in London. Except in this case, she never wanted the romance. She hadn't even wanted a kiss.

Chandler figured he had two choices. He could doubt her intentions with Ted and question whether she truly loved him. He could dwell on the fact that she had misled him, that she had practically lied to him about Ted by never mentioning him. He could be angry and hurt and mistrustful.

Or he could take her word for it. He could push this information behind him and trust her again.

The first option would be easier, he knew. After all, he wasn't used to the unconditional love he got from Monica, and he would have no trouble at all punching holes in that, punishing himself with worries that she could leave him at any time, that none of her feelings were real, or at least very strong.

But he chose the second option. He would forgive her and put all of this mess behind him. For the next few weeks, he knew he would have to keep nudging those dark thoughts out of his mind, fighting with the doubts and the questions. But when she looked at him, and he swore he could see her eyes soften with a smile that was just for him, he thought he would be OK. That they would be OK.

"What are you thinking about?" Monica asked Friday night, as they sat at the kitchen table sipping at more soup. Chandler had watched her fidgeting with her spoon for the past five minutes while they ate in silence. He'd seen this question coming, but he took a few seconds to answer.

"How everything changes," he said, staring into his bowl of soup. He saw Monica nod, and thought she looked scared.

"Look, I'm not going to say I'm cool with what happened between you and that waiter guy," he continued. "I hate that bastard. I know it wasn't his fault, but I hate him. I mean, c'mon, he hit on you at work. What kind of an asshole does that?"

Monica gave him a small laugh. Like Chandler should talk.

"Anyway," he continued, "what happened, it's just made me think about where things stand with us."

"Where do things stand?" Monica asked. She raised her eyes to meet his.

"I'll be honest. This really shook me up," Chandler said. "I thought things were like, well, that they were perfect between us. I mean, I know that's not possible, but it's just been so easy for us, you know? And now, well, now they're not perfect, not at all. Now I feel pretty screwed up. And I have doubts and fears and I'm pretty mad. And I hate feeling that way. But you know what?"

"What?" Monica asked.

"I love you," he said, and gave her a half smile.

"I love you too."

By Saturday, Chandler was feeling well enough that they invited everyone over for dinner. It was uncomfortable for about the first two seconds after their friends arrived. And then Ross and Joey broke into an argument over cloning.

"Hey, Ross, you know about cloning, right? How far along are they with that now?" Joey asked.

"I don't know, I think they've done some farm animals and stuff," Ross said. "Why do you want to know?"

"Can they just do my head?" Joey asked, sitting down in Chandler's recliner.

"Your head?" Ross sputtered. "Why would you just want your head?"

"You know, I'm an actor, and I depend a lot on my looks. So what if like I get in an accident or something, and I lose an eye, or my nose is cut off or something."

"Why don't you just get parts of your head cloned?" Phoebe asked, sitting down on the couch with two beers. She handed one to Joey. "I mean, if they can clone your head, they can probably just clone your nose or your eyes."

"Are you guys kidding?" Ross said. "No, of course you aren't kidding. Joey, they can't just clone your head. It wouldn't work."

"Why not?" Joey asked.

"Well, it's like, they can't, you see, the brain won't, they just can't. Trust me."

"I don't know if you'd want a clone anyway, Joey," Rachel said, sitting down on the floor opposite of Phoebe. "I mean, look at Phoebs. She's got a twin, which is like a clone, and she hates it."

"That's true," Phoebe said.

"Twins are nothing like clones," Ross yelled, gripping the back of the couch now. "Twins are like, like two different people. Clones are the same people. The same person. They're like Xerox copies."

Phoebe shook her head and rolled her eyes at Joey.

"Just get the nose," she said. "And a couple eyes. But if you lose an ear, you might want to consider a new one altogether. Yours are a little too big."

"Really? Too big?" Joey asked, putting his hands over his ears. "Man, that reminds me. Better think about getting some other parts cloned. It's not just the face I should be protecting, know what I mean?"

In the kitchen, Chandler smiled at Monica as they listened to the conversation coming from the living room.

"Well, good to know they're not worried about us," he said, squeezing Monica's waist as he grabbed a bottle of wine from behind her on the counter.

"Yeah, it's like nothing's changed at all," she said, and immediately regretted her words. They both frowned a little. Of course things had changed. She knew that. Monica went back to studiously chopping tomatoes for a salad.

Chandler watched her for a moment, a frown still lining his forehead. And then, just as he'd promised himself, he pushed his dark thoughts aside and leaned over to swipe a piece of hair away from her face and kiss the corner of her mouth. The stubble from his face he still hadn't shaved tickled her lips and cheek and she smiled.

"Except it has changed," he whispered, and her smile disappeared. "I mean, check out this beard I'm working on. Talk about change, babe. Could I look any different?"

Monica laughed. She turned her face toward him, the smile back on it, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. He reached a hand up to the back of her head, and then set the wine bottle down so he could wrap his other arm around her waist and pull her close to him.

Neither of them noticed that their friends had stopped talking. Instead, they were all beaming at the couple. And then, turning to face each other, they went right back to fighting.

So, nothing had changed after all.

The end.

Final note: Thanks to jjaks for much help with the last chapter.

OK, you read the whole thing. Surely you must have something to say about it. Don't be shy. .


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